


there were sirens in the beat of your heart

by completist



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, blanca is rlly intense idk how yeet survived this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: “It’s rude to make a mess of people’s home,” Yut-lung can hear the amusement in Blanca’s voice as the man presses against his back, “Sir.”Suppressing a shiver, Yut-lung kicks his discarded pants out of his way and saunters to the armchair near the floor to ceiling window; the curtain now drawn back, letting the silver moonlight bath the living room, “I’ll hire you a maid first thing tomorrow.”





	there were sirens in the beat of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> porn!! with!! feelings!! that got lost half-way because blanca rlly is dat hoe

Yut-lung can’t say much about the Caribbean, but sitting in the dark, sipping the— _ ah, 1787 Chateau Lafite,  _ how obnoxious if you ask him _ — _ he randomly picked from the cellar at Blanca’s home makes him think much.

For one, about what Blanca said years ago. Logically, he knows he understood it during that time; emotionally however, as he knows Blanca specifically aimed for, he missed it by more than a mile.

The moonlight reflects on the vintage bottle before him, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees outside loud in the silence of the house. And what a beautiful house it is, it makes Yut-lung wonder how many women Blanca has let in: cooking breakfast in the morning, opening the curtains to let the sunlight in, tucked comfortably beside him on this very couch Yut-lung is sitting on—he wonders if the bedroom door was left open to let out the sounds of passion at night. It all seems to be so…  _ domestic. _

Secondly, who gave Blanca this bottle of wine. Yut-lung wonders how long it would take him to find out what Blanca did to merit this gift, that is, if he did something and not just took an interest in its historical value and decided he must have it; wonders too, if Blanca would get angry if he manages to drink more than a glass.

Probably not, Blanca was far gentler than anyone Yut-lung had the misfortune to meet. Even if he used to despise the way he held him back by his hair, tangling his fingers on the long strands without his permission.

Yut-lung lets his own fingers brush his hair, a ghost of a touch from years past.

But that’s not why he’s here. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know why Ash Lynx chose to nearly die at a public library, doesn’t know why Sing is now with them in Japan, doesn’t know how he managed to live this life for more than seven years and didn’t die worse than any of his brothers did.

Well, he knows, but he’d rather not think about it now.

Yut-lung can’t say much about himself either. He always feels too much, lashes out too soon, often lacking the calmness he only sports for show. He’s aware of it, even more so now. His anger still simmering just beneath the surface, always threatening to burst—like a dragon’s fire and suddenly, he wants to scratch the skin on his neck raw. But he’s managing, quite fairly, if he says so himself.

Which is, by far, shouldn’t be a call solely made by him.

But Sing is in Japan, living his best life, and the next person he knows who can tell him off straight in the face has not yet arrived.

Besides, he’d rather not think about that now either, so he stands and leaves the half-empty glass on the low table beside the bottle and slips off of his clothing, thinks if he should just leave it on the floor or if he should fold it. There’s so much that is expected of him these days.

It’s been seven years since. Now, everything is as good as it gets. Yut-lung thinks Blanca might be proud of how far he’d come, of what he did, what he’s doing, of what he managed to learn so far. Yut-lung can’t exactly tell.

Moving to Blanca’s bedroom, Yut-lung stares at the king-sized bed to the book lying on the bedside table farthest from the door, allows his gaze to roam the sparsely decorated room; wonders if the suffocating feel of it will be chased away come sunrise, or if it will be held at bay by Blanca’s presence.

Yut-lung doesn’t know what else to do.

He walks towards Blanca’s wardrobe, thinks that maybe, Blanca keeps a gun here, that he always keeps a gun within arm's reach even at the safety of his home because it only makes sense that way. He slips on a crisp white dress shirt, thinks that maybe, the blood of Blanca’s enemies once stained it—somehow, he doubts Blanca's blood ever stained it, but it's a possibility he is willing to consider, after all, he is yet to see the man bleed profusely. And oh, what a sight it must be.

Then he sees a maroon Mandarin-collar dress shirt, the buttons running on a slanted pattern opposite the slanted cut of its tail, silver threads highlight the collar and cuffs of the shirt in a simple swirling pattern. Yut-lung puts it on instead, picks the book up from the nightstand and walks back to the living room and  _ oh _ , he left his clothes on the floor.

“It’s rude to make a mess of people’s home,” Yut-lung can hear the amusement in Blanca’s voice as the man presses against his back, “Sir.”

Suppressing a shiver, Yut-lung kicks his discarded pants out of his way and saunters to the armchair near the floor to ceiling window; the curtain now drawn back, letting the silver moonlight bath the living room, “I’ll hire you a maid first thing tomorrow.”

Blanca chuckles, picking up Yut-lung’s clothes and places the garments on his shoulder before folding them neatly one by one. Setting Yut-lung’s folded clothes on the low table, Blanca raises an eyebrow at the bottle and pours himself a drink—using Yut-lung’s glass. “May I ask why you’re here, sir?”

_After all these years?_ Yut-lung fancies that he heard that last part before finally allowing himself to look at Blanca.  Letting his eyes wander, Yut-lung shifts his gaze from Blanca's eyes to the white v-neck shirt straining against his chest and biceps, the dragons printed on each side coiling and twisting near the shoulders of his t-shirt, to his hair that seems a little longer than Yut-lung saw him last, to the dark-washed jeans, to the gun peeking from his side. He looks the same yet he also looks so… _mundane._ He opens the book, despite not taking interest in it, forcing himself to stop coalescing the man before him with the man he met years ago; he didn’t even bother with the title, didn’t even start at the first chapter.

He picks up right where Blanca left off.

“No particular reason,” Yut-lung replies, forcing his eyes away from Blanca, from the way the moonlight hits the dragons in his shirt, from the way the moonlight makes his eyes glint when it hits them just right. He raises his legs and curls in on himself, pretending to read.

“I’m supposed to wear that in two days, you know.”

“Since you clearly don’t want a maid, you can wash it once I take it off.”

Blanca hums, and Yut-lung hears him put the glass back to the table. “And when are you going to take it off, sir?”

Yut-lung runs his fingers through his hair—from the top of his head to the side, letting it fall to the left so it hides his tattoo. He glances up at Blanca, chin perched on his knee, “That depends. When are you going to take it off of me?”

The same feeling of controlled trepidation courses through Yut-lung's body, he both hate and adore how he can't tell what Blanca is going to do next until the last second, yet he still chases that same feeling the man elicits from him. As if Blanca can bridge the gap between his thoughts and emotions.

He understood what Blanca meant back then, logically; he thinks he might be ready to understand emotionally now.

“They're in Japan.” Yut-lung blurts out, unaware if he said it out of the blue or on purpose. It's difficult to tell these days, the business demand lies and dominion over truth. There's too much that is expected of him these days.

“I know.” Blanca replies in that detached way of his, like he already knows what Yut-lung meant to say. He leans down, letting his left arm support him as Yut-lung instinctively moves to lie back on the chair, looking up at him. The sound of the book falling from Yut-lung's hand magnifying the next words uttered between them, “But that's not why you're here, sir. You think that's the reason, but you're only deceiving yourself so.”

Yut-lung slaps him.

“Do you make it a habit to put words in people’s mouth?” Yut-lung asks, his tone sharp, commanding,  _ demanding _ — far more venomous from when he was young, a far cry from the attitude he used to display years ago.

“Do you still make a habit of not telling people exactly what you want?” Blanca retorts, lips set into a thin line, his words barely whispered between them, “Tell me, sir. You’re not here to hire me, you’re not here to kill me. You know that I know where Ash and Eiji is, you know that I know they invited Sing to Japan and that Sing only accepted the invitation a week ago. Tell me,  _ Yut-lung _ , show me you learned since we last met. Why are you here?”

_ Why are you here? _

_ Because I don’t know of any other place to go. I can go wherever I want but my feet led me here. Because you said I can choose to feel more than hatred. Because you said we are alike—unloving, unloved. _

_ Because I want to see if you still are, because I still am. _

“Kiss me.”

Blanca did—slowly—his right hand moving to grasp Yut-lung’s neck in a gentle touch. Yut-lung gasps, barely aware of his hands lifting to grasp the front of Blanca’s shirt, shifting to hold his bicep in a tight grip as their kiss deepen, sending shivers down Yut-lung’s spine as he feels Blanca slot himself between his open legs, feels him bite his lower lip, coaxing a moan out of Yut-lung.

Just as slowly, Blanca pulls away. “What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Blanca murmurs, encouraging. He buries his face on the crook of Yut-lung’s neck and shoulders, leaving feather light kisses on the pale, cold skin, unaware of the goosebumps rising in Yut-lung’s arm at every brush of his lips, “Just say the words.”

Yut-lung takes a deep breath, forcing his hands to slacken their hold on Blanca. This is it, isn’t it. This is the part where he was supposed to know what he really wants, why the fuck he came all the way here when he could’ve just spent the night on a drunken stupor while looking over New York—trying his might, and failing, not to wallow in misery, why Blanca’s words mattered to him so much, why the fuck is he here trying to hold Blanca close when he could easily slip away like before. 

“Fuck me.”

Yut-lung feels the deep breath Blanca takes, feels his fingers softly threading through his hair, feels Blanca softly kiss the tattoo on his neck.

He pushes Blanca away from him as he stands and for a moment, Yut-lung did nothing—he wants to chuckle at how dangerous Blanca suddenly looks under the pale cast of moonlight, a true predator. Instead, he closes the distance between them, winds his arms around those broad shoulders and breathes a sigh of relief as his body sags against Blanca who merely holds him with a hand on the small of his back, his other hand finding its way back to the strands of Yut-lung’s hair.

“He didn’t become like us. Are you happy?”

Instead of answering, Blanca hugs him close and  _ oh,  _ Yut-lung wonders if this is how it feels like to be treasured, to be held close without expectation.

Instead of answering, Blanca kisses him again, hurriedly, with the fierceness Yut-lung only saw in him in battle, when commanding what must be done with precision and efficiency. Gasping, Yut-lung instinctively curls his legs around Blanca when he was carried, mouth open as Blanca ravishes his mouth—contrasting to the soft way one of his palms caress Yut-lung's thighs.

Instead of answering, Blanca carefully lays him on his bed, against the white sheets where the color of the shirt he's wearing looks like blood on his pale skin, his long hair fanned out like the dark canvass of the night sky. Then Blanca is removing his own clothes, revealing an expanse of tanned and lightly tanned skin to Yut-lung. Yut-lung sighs, his eyes falling close as Blanca travels up his body with his lips and hands.

“You know they are.” Blanca finally answers, placing wet kisses on the column of Yut-lung's neck—always,  _ always,  _ taking his time with the tattoo, as if he can chase away the memories it carries with his kisses, as if he can remove the mark if he suck hard enough, as if Yut-lung will forget everything with every moan and gasp being ripped out of him. “Do you think you will be happy when you came here?”

Yut-lung smiles, throwing his head back. He lets Blanca explore his body, unhurried, allows himself to bask in the light nips and kisses Blanca leaves on his exposed skin. “I highly doubt it.”

“Will you try?”

Instead of answering, Yut-lung wonders what a sight they make. Him, wearing nothing but a Mandarin collar shirt slipping off of his shoulders, pale legs curled around Blanca's waist, and Blanca—with all that muscle and tanned skin exposed, strong thighs and arms caging Yut-lung in, their hips grinding against one another.

Instead of answering, Yut-lung runs his hands up and down Blanca's back, pulls him up so their lips meet in a slow, languid kiss. He wonders if Blanca is always like this, wonders how it feels to have those big hands be rough on him after being so,  _ so _ gentle.

Instead of answering, Yut-lung maneuvers them so he’s the one on top, his hands placed on Blanca’s chest, his ass grinding on Blanca’s cock.

He trails a finger along Blanca's jaw before gripping his chin, Yut-lung watches as Blanca licks his lips. “Fuck me.” Yut-lung says, “No words, no business. Just fuck me.”

Blanca surges up to claim his lips, then suddenly he’s everywhere; his hands leaving searing touches on Yut-lung's hips, on his ass, his mouth licking along his jaw, nipping at his ear, whispering  _ filthy _ things. Yut-lung arches his back as Blanca pulls at his hair,  _ hard,  _ letting out a groan as his nails dig on Blanca's shoulders, leaving bloody crescents on the scarred skin and finds himself wanting to map out the scars on Blanca’s body, to listen to the story of each, to kiss the scar on his right arm from the knife that was aimed at him.

“Roll over, baby.” Blanca commands, running the back of his hand on the underside of Yut-lung’s cock. “Face down, ass up.”

Reveling at the thrill the words elicit from him, Yut-lung quickly follows. He feels Blanca’s chest on his back, holding his wrists in one hand as he kisses his shoulder. Yut-lung hears his other hand reaching for the bedside table and suppresses a grin, Blanca’s sheer size is really useful.

“Is this okay?” Yut-lung merely nods, biting his lower lip to stop himself from whimpering as one of Blanca’s fingers trace the rim of his hole. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so. Understood?”

“Yes.” Yut-lung moans as Blanca slides down his body, his other hand finding its way again on Yut-lung’s long hair and licks his hole. He stretches his arms up and spreads his knees, holding on to the sheets as Blanca eats him out only to reach out behind him, holds Blanca by the hair as he fucks him with his tongue, groaning as Yut-lung grinds against his face.

“Yeah, like that, like that.” Blanca says, “Keep doing that, grind that pretty ass on my face, baby.”

“Fuck,” Yut-lung gasps, his fingers tightening its hold on Blanca's hair, doing just as Blanca asked and earning himself a groan as Blanca slaps his ass, once,  _ twice,  _ palming the reddened cheeks before biting it—eliciting a loud moan from Yut-lung.

“Blanca,  _ please _ .”

Slipping from his hold, Yut-lung watches as Blanca wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, brushing back the hair that fell over his face. Blanca leans down and Yut-lung meets him half-way in a kiss, lets himself be held with a hand on his neck, allows himself to relax as Blanca runs his thumb on the dragon tattooed on his neck, his cock slowly pushing in.

Yut-lung groans, hiding his face on his arms as he waits for the pain to recede. He focuses on the heat of Blanca's thighs against his, thinks he can feel the beating of Blanca's heart as he presses against his back, murmuring apologies as he alternates between kissing and sucking on Yut-lung’s shoulders, on the back of his neck. He focuses on the cradle of Blanca's arm as he slips it around him, holding Yut-lung close while his other hand moves to play with his nipples.

“Move, you big oaf.” Yut-lung demands, once again holding Blanca close with a hand on his head, long, slim fingers threading through his hair. Yut-lung turns to bury his face on the crook of Blanca's arms, unable to stop the moan from escaping his mouth as Blanca begins to move in short, quick, thrusts; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing within the room.

“Is this what you had in mind when you came here, Yut-lung?” Blanca asks, mouth pressed close to Yut-lung's ear. “Did you looked forward to this when you boarded that plane? Have you thought of me fucking you on every surface of this house as you wait for me to arrive, drinking that fucking wine without my permission?”

Blanca's thrusts are unrelenting, yet he anchors Yut-lung as he joins their hands together, and Yut-lung couldn’t form any thoughts on the apparent juxtaposition—of Blanca fucking him hard and fast, his filthy mouth, his gentle hands. “Answer me, Yut-lung. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” Yut-lung whimpers, biting at Blanca's biceps as he keeps on hitting his prostate. His right hand hashly pulling at Blanca's hair, making him groan, hips stuttering for a moment before thrusting hard. “I want you.  _ Fuck,  _ please _ ,  _ I'm- Blanca, I'm close—”

Blanca pulls out and flips him over, licks his cock and sucks lightly on the head, curling his fingers around Yut-lung’s neck as he sucks him off. Then, he holds Yut-lung's arms above him in one hand and pushes his cock back into his ass. “Tell me, tell me.”

“Fuck me,” Yut-lung groans, throwing his head back as he feels his muscles tense, pulling Blanca close and urges him to move deeper with his legs around his waist, rocking his hips in time with each thrust—he's so  _ close,  _ “Harder, Blanca, please.”

Freeing his hand from Blanca's grip, Yut-lung pulls him into a kiss, their left hands intertwined as Blanca slips his other hand between them and starts to jerk him off.

_ Blanca, Blanca,  _ Yut-lung is pretty sure he stopped thinking at some point, his mind only chanting that one name. It didn't feel this good, he wasn't used to it feeling this good. Blanca's hand in his, on his cock, Blanca's mouth on his lips, on his neck—sucking at the hollow between his collarbones and  _ oh fuck, yes, yes— _

“Come for me, Yut-lung.”

Yut-lung moans, his back arching, feels like his heart will escape from his ribs any second now, he barely hears Blanca groaning against chest only feels the hot cum in his ass, his own painting his and Blanca's chests, feels like his heart escaped when Blanca raises his head to press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Yut-lung revels in the moment, doesn’t even care how long he lies there with Blanca still on top of him. Lets himself sag in the aftermath of his climax with Blanca's hot skin pressed against his. He marvels at the way his his fingers fit along Blanca’s, the press of his palms against Blanca’s—the feeling of Blanca between his legs.

“Are you okay?” Blanca asks, whispering, lips still pressed on Yut-lung's forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

“Physically or emotionally?”

Chuckling, Blanca slowly pulls out of him and finally removes the shirt completely off of him, “Both?”

“No. Yes.” Yut-lung replies, his eyes already falling close. He lets Blanca clean him with the shirt before he asks, “I thought you're going to wear that in two days? I'm not doing your laundry, Blanca.”

Blanca lifts him off of the bed with a laugh, slipping both of their bodies under the cover, “Now that you're here, I'm not.”

“Were you expecting this?”

“Expect what?”

“Me, going here.”

"Maybe.” Blanca grins, catching Yut-lung's hand before it catches his face again in a slap much vicious than the one earlier—he’s sure of that. Blanca kisses each of his fingers, “But you're here now—”

“It took seven years, Blanca.” Yut-lung says through clenched teeth, he does not know whether he should cry in anger or just cry.

Placing a last kiss on his palm, Blanca places Yut-lung's hand against his cheek, “You learnt a lot, somehow. You can finally see past the hatred, you can finally see what you really want. Sure, it took seven years, but that's okay.”

Instead of answering, Yut-lung hugs him; buries his face on Blanca's chest and lets himself be lulled to sleep by the strong beat of his heart. He didn't ask if he could stay, didn't ask if he  _ should _ stay because it doesn’t matter if he should, what matters is that he  _ could _ . Finally, a place to belong, a place to keep him warm against the cold, a place to keep him buoyed against the harsh currents of the world.

Finally, a person that makes him feel like he's home.

**Author's Note:**

> yep, that's some ot3 propaganda right there because in some universe, yeet listened to what blanca said but had a hard time absorbing it so it took him seven years to pay ~~his daddy~~ blanca a visit in the caribbean lol. idk what to make of that ending but umpff
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/completist_) and [tumblr](http://queen---queer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
